Breaking Point

turned away to end his call. Rulon stopped short of the outstretched palm but stood hands on hips, glaring at the EPA administrator with his upper body pointed forward and his eyes enlarged.
    When Batista closed his phone and extended his hand in greeting, Rulon didn’t move. He shouted, “What’s this I hear about sending unmanned drones into my airspace without permission and without notifying my office?”
    “We’re in the middle of an operation—” Batista began calmly, when Rulon cut him off by talking over him.
    “I don’t care what you’re in the middle of, you’ll order those things back where they came from or
I’ll
order the Wyoming National Guard to fly up here and blast them the hell out of the sky!”
    Joe frowned. He’d seen the National Guard air fleet before and couldn’t recall a single fighter plane among the helicopters and C-130 cargo planes. But maybe Batista didn’t know that . . .
    “It’ll be shoot to kill!” Rulon thundered. “I don’t care if I start a damned war between Wyoming and the EPA, because I’ve been threatening to start one for years.”
    “Look,” Batista said, his eyes shooting around for support from his special agents and the others, “I know we started out on the wrong foot a few years ago. But right now we’re in the middle of a murder investigation, and . . .”
    Rulon jabbed his finger an inch from the EPA administrator’s nose: “There are right ways to do things and wrong ways to do things in my state. When I got a call that two of your people were gunned down in Twelve Sleep County, I pledged support. We want this guy caught as much as you do. But I should have
known
not to trust any of you bastards, that you’d turn out to be the jackbooted thugs I always knew you were.”
    Joe smiled to himself and shook his head. He almost missed his boss approaching Rulon and grabbing gently at his arm, urging him to calm down.
    Rulon said, “Now I hear you’ve not only offered a reward for the capture or execution of one of my constituents, you’ve also ordered a goddamned drone from Nebraska, where you spy on cattle feedlot operations, to fly over my airspace and spy on my land and my people. Just who in the
hell
gave you the authority to bypass the elected government of the state of Wyoming and trample over our citizens?”
    Rulon’s face was red, and when he paused for a breath, Batista said quickly, “First, we’ve retracted the reward offer. Second, I’ve got the authority to administrate my region.”
    “Governor,” Greene-Dempsey pleaded, pulling him back, “Please . . .”
    Then Rulon waved his arms at the assembled and astonished crowd, and said to Batista, “Get them all the hell out of here! Take down your stupid tents and go the hell away! The only agency who should be here right now is the sheriff of Twelve Sleep County. The rest of you,” he said, glaring at the special agents and rangers one by one,
“beat it!”
    Batista shook his head and said, “I doubt you’d talk this way to me if I looked more like you.”
    “What?” Rulon sputtered, confused.
    “You heard me,” Batista said, crossing his arms over his chest and daring the governor to say more.
    “You’re accusing me . . . of what?” Rulon said. “Because you’re . . .”
    “A Hispanic American,” Batista said, raising his chin.
    Rulon shook his head, as if momentarily stunned. Then he said, “Well, I’m a Governor American, and I want your ass out of my state. We’ll find your shooter, and he’ll get justice. We don’t want you or your thugs involved.” Joe noted the governor’s tone had softened, despite the words.
    “And now we know why,” Batista said, still smug.
    Joe shook his head. In that brief exchange, Rulon seemed to have lost his momentum. And the crowd seemed to agree.
    Greene-Dempsey managed to pull Rulon away again, and when he turned, Joe saw a look of spent rage crossed with befuddled realization in his face. He’d never seen the look before, and he wondered if Rulon had truly lost it after all. Rulon seemed to have the same thought, and he threw his shoulders back and gathered himself, then looked down at his feet for a moment.
    Batista turned to the group of officers and said, “The show is over. It’s time to get back to work.”
    “Jesus Christ,” Underwood said, and whistled. “Your governor
is
a nutjob.”
    Joe said, “He might be. But he’s not a racist.”
    Underwood said, “He is now.”
    —
    W HILE U NDERWOOD